


Clang

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Harry’s railed.
Relationships: Chakotay/Harry Kim
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Clang

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Fire-hot fingers run down his lower back, curving around the hump of his ass to squeeze his cheek, snaking underneath to knead his thigh and chase the hemline of his standard-issue sock. A split-second later, the black material’s ripped away and flying past his peripherals, hitting the cabin’s floor. That was sock was the very last vestige of his uniform: the last remnant of duty. Now he’s completely naked, wearing nothing but sweat and spit and the mess he made embarrassingly quickly. His channel’s so slick with lube that every greedy thrust comes with a disgusting noise, loud squelching and a louder slap, drowned out by Harry’s moans. His throat’s completely raw from screaming, but that doesn’t stop the strangled sounds from bubbling out. His commander looms over him, pounds into him, and Harry actually _sobs_ into his arm. 

Then thick fingers are clamped around his shoulder, rolling him over, and his back hits the mattress, body still impaled and hips pulled high onto Chakotay’s lap. Chakotay stalks over him like a wild cat and bites down into his jaw—Harry grits his teeth but rasps, “ _Yes_.” It’s so good that it actually hurts. He’s wet and loose and shuddering almost violently around Chakotay’s massive cock, but the ache’s in his heart, in his tired arms and legs, his exhausted mind—it’s that kind of sickeningly sweet pleasure that invades _every_ part of him, and he doesn’t think he can take much more. He’s so hot he feels cold in places, so drenched in fluids that he can’t tell what’s what or whose, just that it feels _so good_ to rut into Chakotay. He arches off the mattress to grind his spent cock against Chakotay’s stomach, even though he thought he had nothing left—he doesn’t have the energy to hump his commanding officer like some pitiful dog. He does it anyway, driven by pure instinct. Chakotay trails a gnawing kiss towards his mouth, then pushes his lips open, and suddenly Harry can’t even breathe. He still welcomes it, sucking Chakotay’s tongue right in. 

Chakotay kisses him to the point where he thinks he’ll pass out, and then that glorious mouth is pulling back, and Harry’s too drained to chase it. He lies face-up on Chakotay’s mattress, watching Chakotay hover over him, eyeing him up, eyes dark and dilated. Chakotay’s hair is a mess from Harry’s busy hands, but nowhere near as bad as Harry’s—his bangs keep getting in his eyes. Chakotay bends down again to kiss his cheek and mutter in his ear, “Alright, there, _Ensign_?”

The rank alone sends a shiver down Harry’s spine. On Voyager, it hardly matters, but the power gap just gets _hotter_ every time he thinks of it, and then he digests Chakotay’s question and swallows—no, he can’t handle much more. It’s too much for him. But he won’t say that aloud. He was _so proud_ when Chakotay clasped his shoulder on the bridge and told him _how good he was doing_ , praised his work on the night shift, teased about him playing captain, about him daring to sit in the big chair. He swore he could handle that, and he can handle this, anything the other senior officers can take—except Chakotay’s stamina is legendary and Harry’s only human. He makes himself lean up and beg for a kiss, makes himself keep going. Chakotay smiles indulgently, _like he knows_ , but he leans down anyway and kisses Harry back. It’s a hard, wet, sloppy thing that makes Harry squirm and writhe worse than he’s already doing. His hands are all over Chakotay’s back—he can’t stop _touching_ Chakotay’s handsome body. Chakotay touches him back, pets through his hair and reaches down between them. The second those calloused fingers wrap around Harry’s cock, he’s hard again. 

Somewhere in the back of his fuck-stupid brain, he wonders if he can even come again. Chakotay pumped so much out of him the first time, but kept ploughing him through it, _is still railing him_. He can’t tell if that means he’s bad in bed, or if Chakotay’s just a monster. He’s always been able to keep his cool in stressful situations, calmer and _stronger_ than most, but it feels like he’s been fucking Harry for hours and it’s been at a ten the entire time—hard and fast and burning-hot. Harry can’t be the only one in heaven. He wraps his arms around Chakotay’s shoulders when Chakotay nudges him there, knowing to hold on. 

An arm slides under his back, and then he’s being pulled away—the sheets are so glued to him that they trail after and have to be pushed off. Harry’s hiked into Chakotay’s lap, settling there as Chakotay leans against the headboard, hands all over Harry’s waist. He doesn’t even miss a beat—is smooth and cool, like always. The look he gives Harry is burning. He knows Harry’s tired, but he’s encouraging more anyway, and Harry nods, because he’s always willing to serve. He summons every last bit of strength and surges down, kissing Chakotay hard enough to bruise. 

He fucks himself on Chakotay’s cock like he was built for it, not some stuttering virgin that could barely get through a night with one Delaney sister before this affair escalated so far. He uses his own weight to drive Chakotay so deep into him that it feels like he might split open. He grinds himself into Chakotay at every opportunity, eager to utilize every gorgeous part of Chakotay’s perfect body, while Chakotay pumps his cock to the beat. He’s distantly aware of what a generous lover Chakotay is, never letting Harry down, even though Harry’s already come and Chakotay’s the one in need. 

It’s almost a relief when Chakotay’s breath hitches, when he tenses in Harry’s arms and spills into Harry’s body—Harry clamps down, savouring every drop. He leans his forehead against Chakotay’s and lets their bangs tickle each other, lets Chakotay steal his air. Another few strokes, and he’s gone too, barreling through a dry orgasm that still utterly consumes him. He practically convulses, coming perilously close to blacking out, dizzy and foggy-headed with his whole body dead weight atop Chakotay’s. The sensations overwhelm him, then ebb back, until Chakotay’s cock is rubbing his inner walls on the way out, and he’s still _so_ sensitive there.

When he comes to again enough to realize what’s happening, he’s lying in bed, staring up at the slanted ceiling through the dim light of the stars. Chakotay must’ve pulled him down, is still tucking him in, dragging the blanket up over his chest. He’s sticky and gross but too tired to wash off, and the sonic shower can clean him both in and out come morning. The bed creaks next to him. It dips with Chakotay’s weight, and Chakotay sighs, sounding satisfied, “I assume you’ll be saying the night?”

It’s all Harry can do to nod. He’s starting to cool down again, but the blanket’s still too warm. His throat’s parched, but there’s a glass of water on the nightstand he rolls over to down. Chakotay always thinks of everything—all the little details Harry will have to learn if he ever wants to become such a well-rounded officer.

It doesn’t always come down to duty. He still could’ve ended up with Chakotay if they’d stayed on Earth, Chakotay teaching at the Academy and Harry a barista there, bumping into each other on campus. Or completely away from Starfleet—Harry a civilian engineer and Chakotay an undercover Maquis with a broken bike in need of repairs. But there’s always some flicker of work in Harry, and he’s just dazed enough to mumble without thinking, “How was I?”

Chakotay gives him a patient smile, too kind. “Fantastic, as usual.” Harry’s still horribly embarrassed. 

A part of him wants to ask for notes, but he brushes it off and jokes instead, “I’ll accept my promotion in the morning, then.”

Chakotay’s grin twitches wider, and he smoothly counters, “In the relationship? I didn’t think you’d want an onboard wedding.”

Harry’s cheeks are on fire, if they weren’t already. He splutters, “No, I mean—I was joking—” But it is good to know Chakotay considers the next step up _marriage_ , so the relationship really _means something._

Chakotay chuckles, “I know what you mean, Harry. It’s okay.” Then he rolls closer, brushing back a few of the dark strands stuck to Harry’s forehead so he can kiss Harry’s blushing skin. “Let’s save the jokes for tomorrow, though. We both have alpha shift in the morning, and you really tired me out.”

Harry can’t help an incredulous, “ _I_ tired _you_ out?”

“Ah, to be young,” Chakotay hums wistfully, as though Harry’s ass isn’t still throbbing from the very virile fucking his commander gave him. Chakotay reaches out, taking hold of Harry’s wrist. 

He rolls over, taking Harry with him, and Harry snuggles up to Chakotay’s back to spoon him, blissfully asleep in seconds.


End file.
